Read Online The Chick and the Dead by Casey Daniels - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Casey Daniels
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"Too bad the kid doesn't have more to look forward to in her life." Didi was right beside me.
"I was a fool to think I could make a difference," I admitted, and wondered if anyone who happened to glance my way thought I was talking to myself like the old guy I'd seen standing on the corner. "Nothing's going to change Harmony's life."
Didi's sigh rippled the spring air. "She'll try anything to show that she's worthy of Shayla's friendship, and when nothing works, she's going to turn to someone else for approval. I'm thinking that one tall, skinny boy. The kid with the dark hair and the little mustache. She'll get in trouble before she's a junior in high school. Guaranteed."
"You seem to know an awful lot about her."
"I know there's something that could make a difference."
I wasn't so sure, and I told Didi so. "Nothing's going to change her life."
"Money might."
I turned to my companion. "You're asking the wrong person about money."
"Am not." She smoothed her skirt and tugged at her gloves. "See, I know something you don't know." I wasn't in the mood for games. I gave her a no-nonsense look.
She gave up without a fight.
"Harmony is my granddaughter," Didi said. "She's my daughter, Judy's, girl. Judy's dead now. Cancer. When Harmony was no more than five. The girl's father was a loser. That's why Harmony is in foster care. And she's headed down the same hopeless road as my daughter. No education. A mother too young. But you know, I could still make a difference in her life. You could make a difference in her life. If you prove I wrote So Far the Dawn , she'll collect the royalties. Then she'll never have to worry about money—or nosebleeds like Shayla—again."
Chapter 6
How big of a chump did Didi think I was?
Apparently, a pretty big one.
And apparently, she was right.
My heartstrings thoroughly tugged, my scruples outraged on Harmony's behalf, I agreed to do what I could to see that justice was done.
Too bad I didn't know where to begin.
The next day, I sat at my desk and drummed my fingers against the papers that sat on top of it in precarious piles like windblown snowdrifts. I'd come into the office early, raided the cemetery archives, and even spent some time doing Internet research. I Googled both "Deborah Bowman" and "Didi Bowman" and turned up nothing useful. I checked the Garden View database, and though many of our residents' files contained notes about their families or their former occupations, Didi's said nothing about either. If my latest ghostly nuisance was a mother (and thus, could have had a granddaughter), no one bothered to make mention of it. If she had ever been associated with the writing of So Far the Dawn …
well, I couldn't find any evidence of that, either. And believe me, there were pages (and pages) of Internet sites devoted to the movie, the book, and its author.
Again, the little voice of doubt whispered in my ear.
It sounded like my dad.
I told it to shut up and glanced toward where Didi sat in the chair across from my desk. She was wearing the outfit she'd worn when I met her, and she adjusted the gauzy pink scarf that matched the bow around the neck of the appliquéd poodle on her skirt.
"If you wrote the book, how come you never told anyone?" I asked her.
"I did." She frowned. "I told plenty of people."
"Then why didn't they come forward when your sister published it?" She shrugged.
It wasn't much of an answer, and it didn't do much to bolster my confidence. I tried another avenue of questioning.
"Why can't Harmony just talk to Merilee and ask for money?"
"Merilee doesn't know Harmony exists."
"I could tell her."
"It wouldn't make a difference." Didi rose and walked to the other side of my office. When she spoke, she kept her back to me. "My family didn't disown me or anything, but they were very unhappy," she said. "You know, when I got into trouble. Oh, they let me live there in theOhioCity house, me and Judy. But things were never the same between us.
"Too bad the kid doesn't have more to look forward to in her life." Didi was right beside me.
"I was a fool to think I could make a difference," I admitted, and wondered if anyone who happened to glance my way thought I was talking to myself like the old guy I'd seen standing on the corner. "Nothing's going to change Harmony's life."
Didi's sigh rippled the spring air. "She'll try anything to show that she's worthy of Shayla's friendship, and when nothing works, she's going to turn to someone else for approval. I'm thinking that one tall, skinny boy. The kid with the dark hair and the little mustache. She'll get in trouble before she's a junior in high school. Guaranteed."
"You seem to know an awful lot about her."
"I know there's something that could make a difference."
I wasn't so sure, and I told Didi so. "Nothing's going to change her life."
"Money might."
I turned to my companion. "You're asking the wrong person about money."
"Am not." She smoothed her skirt and tugged at her gloves. "See, I know something you don't know." I wasn't in the mood for games. I gave her a no-nonsense look.
She gave up without a fight.
"Harmony is my granddaughter," Didi said. "She's my daughter, Judy's, girl. Judy's dead now. Cancer. When Harmony was no more than five. The girl's father was a loser. That's why Harmony is in foster care. And she's headed down the same hopeless road as my daughter. No education. A mother too young. But you know, I could still make a difference in her life. You could make a difference in her life. If you prove I wrote So Far the Dawn , she'll collect the royalties. Then she'll never have to worry about money—or nosebleeds like Shayla—again."
Chapter 6
How big of a chump did Didi think I was?
Apparently, a pretty big one.
And apparently, she was right.
My heartstrings thoroughly tugged, my scruples outraged on Harmony's behalf, I agreed to do what I could to see that justice was done.
Too bad I didn't know where to begin.
The next day, I sat at my desk and drummed my fingers against the papers that sat on top of it in precarious piles like windblown snowdrifts. I'd come into the office early, raided the cemetery archives, and even spent some time doing Internet research. I Googled both "Deborah Bowman" and "Didi Bowman" and turned up nothing useful. I checked the Garden View database, and though many of our residents' files contained notes about their families or their former occupations, Didi's said nothing about either. If my latest ghostly nuisance was a mother (and thus, could have had a granddaughter), no one bothered to make mention of it. If she had ever been associated with the writing of So Far the Dawn …
well, I couldn't find any evidence of that, either. And believe me, there were pages (and pages) of Internet sites devoted to the movie, the book, and its author.
Again, the little voice of doubt whispered in my ear.
It sounded like my dad.
I told it to shut up and glanced toward where Didi sat in the chair across from my desk. She was wearing the outfit she'd worn when I met her, and she adjusted the gauzy pink scarf that matched the bow around the neck of the appliquéd poodle on her skirt.
"If you wrote the book, how come you never told anyone?" I asked her.
"I did." She frowned. "I told plenty of people."
"Then why didn't they come forward when your sister published it?" She shrugged.
It wasn't much of an answer, and it didn't do much to bolster my confidence. I tried another avenue of questioning.
"Why can't Harmony just talk to Merilee and ask for money?"
"Merilee doesn't know Harmony exists."
"I could tell her."
"It wouldn't make a difference." Didi rose and walked to the other side of my office. When she spoke, she kept her back to me. "My family didn't disown me or anything, but they were very unhappy," she said. "You know, when I got into trouble. Oh, they let me live there in theOhioCity house, me and Judy. But things were never the same between us.
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